


Missed Years

by SmilesMcGee



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, listen its easier to keep things all in one place where i can find them than not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22569703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilesMcGee/pseuds/SmilesMcGee
Summary: Morland leaves for a very long time, gets himself killed, and only comes back a long time later in a new body, a bit confused as to why he's got a second set of memories running around in his head. For Poole, his oldest friend, this is a bit of a problem, seeing as how he'd been alive the entire time and doesn't know what to make of the man who Looks like Morland and very wellmightbe. With time, Morland will recognize his memories as his own, and Poole will be there when he does.idk man its porn, thats all.
Relationships: Morland/Poole





	Missed Years

To say that things had not gone well for Brookenby Morland, lord of the manor, was an understatement. It was also far too broad a statement to really encompass anything particular. 

He’d lost his life in battle, lost the manor after his death to raiders and the like, and had taken much too long to return home once reborn into a new body and life. In his defense, he had not known it would happen, and it took his new form quite a while to sense that the strange visions that had plagued him through his life were more than some sort of fantasy. 

A long quest had taken him from place to place, searching out the large manor and the land that he’d come to recognize, generally with very little to go on. Eventually he’d found the place, and slowly the memories began to filter back in earnest, trickling in and finding solid lodging among the memories and beliefs from the years he’d spent as this new, second person.

He’d returned to find the place in ruins, portions of the Manor lost still to raiders and desolation. Morland had also found, after what must have been a century at least by this point, the continued presence of his personal butler, Poole. 

As things began to right themselves in his mind, he asked question after question of his still somewhat dumbfounded friend from his previous life. It seemed, despite it all, that he was the spitting image of himself, which had given Poole quite the shock when he’d first opened the door, having never expected the return of Brookenby. 

Through discussion he had slowly confided in his lord that he was not reborn, as Morland had been. When the manor had fallen, he had been struck and killed, a hole gaping and present in his chest to this day. The death had been violent and terrible, and he wasn’t entirely sure why, but some part of the gruesome affair had changed him, and he had awoken much later underneath decay and other bodies, as alive as ever, albeit cold and somehow less dead than he had expected to be…

Ture to form, Morland had dealt with the revelation of how horror filled and brutal Poole’s death had been very badly. Memories of the exact nature of his relationship with the small, pale man only served to generate outrage at the entire string of events. He had rushed, headfirst, sword in hand, into the domain of the phantom raiders that still occupied portions of the manor, and had not escaped unscathed. 

Furious, Poole chastised him for the behavior, desperate not to overstep but unable to contained the worry he had felt when faced with the possibility of losing so quickly that which had found its way back to him through some form of miracle. With shaking hands in a large hallway, he cleaned Morland’s wounds, tightly bandaging the torn flesh.

Morland took the hands that were fussing with a bandage on his torso and pulled them into his own. He held them, using them to hold the butler in place as he leaned forward to kiss him. 

He stood, pulling the exhausted looking servant to his feet as well, his bandages more than adequate for their purpose. Without a word he half-dragged him down the hall towards his bedroom, intent on leaving the smears of blood in the hall behind to be dealt with at a later date. 

Poole let himself be led, and noting the small amounts of wet gathering in the corner of his eyes, couldn’t help but speak quietly, “Why am I crying…” 

The question was clearly not directed at Brookenby, but rather at himself. Still, Brookenby gave a small noise of acknowledgement, though its meaning was unclear. 

He pulled the butler into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He led him to the bed and pressed on the hands he was still holding gently, “Sit down.”

Poole sniffed lightly, trying to compose himself, as though there were not tears actively streaming down his face. Morland got on his knees in front of Poole and his arms laid on either side of the small butler. Poole was not abnormally small by any means, but he was slight, and Morland was large and possessed a significant amount of height. Even as they were, the butler seated on the bed, and his lord knelt in front of him, they were almost equal in height.

He lifted his arms to Poole’s face, holding it softly and wiping at tears with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been a poor master.”

Poole took a deep breath and put a hand on Morland’s cheek, the other moving to rest in his hair, a small fragile smile on his lips. “No… I missed you, sir.”

“No.” He pulled Poole forward to kiss him softly before pulling away again quickly, “No. I left you defenseless even knowing that I had enemies. Overworked you now even though I’d made the same mistake in the past and should have known. I caused you to worry for my well-being and behaved recklessly even knowing how hard it was on you when I was gone. And most criminally of all I died and did not come back to you, leaving you along for a very, very long time.

“I have been… a very poor master.”

Morland closed his eyes as Poole’s hand ran through his hair, making a small noise, the feeling of it pleasant and mixed with multiple memories playing at once. It brought with it memories that were new to him, old ones he had yet to uncover and experience. 

Poole was silent for a bit, hands coming to a stop. “That’s a lot of words, sir.”

Morland opened his eyes, and thumbing again at the remnants of tears, looked him dead in the face, completely expressionless. “I’m sure you didn’t know I knew so many.”

Poole smiled, ever so softly and small, “No, sir, I didn’t.”

That earned him a small smile from Morland, who pushed off of his knees and moved to stand smoothly. Instead of simply standing straight up, he pushed forward as he went, forcing Poole back against the bed tightly, their faces coming to rest close together. 

Poole kept his arms on the bed at his side, careful not to touch his lord. “Sir… May I have permission?”

Morland reached a hand to brush hair away from Poole’s head, brushing slowly down his cheek, his entire weight balanced on one elbow, “Yes.”

Poole slowly wrapped his arms around Morland’s body, trying to hug as much as he could of Morland given the strange angle and his rather large size.

Morland lowered himself the rest of the way, pinning Poole to the bed and nuzzling gently at the crook of his neck, breath hot against his collar. “Missed you…”

Fingers grasped at his shirt, as if screaming that if Morland tried to leave again, it wouldn’t be as easy. Poole closed his eyes, taking it all in.

Morland let him bask in the closeness for a minute, before pulling back some, a hand coming to press against the front of Poole’s chest. He brushed against the buttons questioningly, watching Poole for an answer.

The butler kept his eyes closed but nodded slightly as his signal. He kept his hands on Morland’s back.

It was quick work to pull at the bowtie, removing it and placing it carefully to the side. He worked at Poole’s buttons, quick with them but not nearly as skilled as Poole was. He peeled Poole’s shirt to the side some and kissed at the small patch of skin it exposed, hands continuing to work down the shirt and pulling it aside as he kissed softly.

Poole shivered at the kisses. It had been so long since the skin has been touched by someone else, and Morland’s touch was extremely warm against his cold, yielding skin. 

Morland tugged Poole’s waistband down enough to untuck his shirt, pushing the button up to the side, and slipping a hand gently beneath the hem of the undershirt and up, stopping just short of Poole’s wound. He used his free hand to rub gently at his face, “Is this okay?”

He got no real response, but a small annoyed noise, barely bitten back in time, seemed to convey frustration with the way the lord of the manor kept stopping mid touch. 

Morland sat them both up to pull Poole’s shirts all the way off. He stood, pulling away from his butler, and loosened his collar, pulling his clothing over his own head until they were both in shorts alone. He went back to his original position from earlier of kneeling next to the bed to remove Poole’s shoes, then looked him over, hand coming to rest next to the open wound on Poole’s chest again.

Poole shivered again but this time not in pleasure. “Sir, I ask only not to place anything in…”

Morland paused a moment, before throwing his head back and giving a singular barking laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He pressed a finger against the edge of it lightly, the tip curling in some, probing. “Does it hurt?”

Poole could only let out a sigh at Morland’s laughter. “Some days more than others, sir.”

Morland leaned in to kiss a spot over Poole’s heart, to the side of his wound. “Unfortunate.” He pulled his hands away and down Poole’s sides to his waistband, teasing it down some. “You’re so cold.”

“Unfortunately.” He mimicked back.

Morland’s lips twitched in response. It was almost enough to warrant a smile. He worked Poole’s pants down to his hips with a quiet “Lift.” as he went. Once he’d gotten them all the way down, he grabbed behind both of Poole’s knees and pulled him a bit closer to the edge of the bed, listening intently to every tiny sound Poole made.

Poole placed his hands on Morland’s shoulders, squeezing slightly. He stared up at the ceiling, unable to face him while he spoke, “Sir, May I make a request?”

Morland looked up, watching his butler’s face. “Yes?”

“Can we take all night?”

“You’d like me to be slower?”

“Not necessarily. Just don’t stop.”

Morland pushed Poole’s knees apart and ran a hand down his thighs lightly. “Alright. For you.” He kissed Poole’s knee, “Can I taste you? I’ve never… only memories. Half memories.” He remembered the taste of Poole, sure. But only from his _former_ life, hundreds of years before, faint and tainted. _This_ tongue had never tasted the man.

The butler put a hand on Morland’s hair, sincerity and an edge of tenderness in his voice, “You can do whatever you want to me, sir.”

Morland reached up to touch the hand in his hair, squeezing slightly as an affirmation before letting go, pressing forward and dropping from up on his knees to seated firmly on the floor; his head resting a bit above Poole’s thighs. He sighed and pressed a few soft kisses to them before licking some, mouthing at the soft but cold flesh.

Morland continued to lick and bite slowly, nipping gently at Poole’s abnormally pale skin. He pressed forward more and more until he was face to face with Poole’s crotch, hand squeezing in response to the Butler’s sighs and stifled moans. Professionalism be damned, Morland _knew_ Poole could groan and moan in pleasure, and he was going to _make_ him.

His mouth closed around Poole, impossibly warm and the motion strangely tender. There was no haste in Morland’s actions, the contact simply light and pleasurable. 

He dug his fingers into Poole’s right thigh and wrapped his other arm around his side, hooking it over his thigh and around, cupping his ass lightly. He stayed that way for a while, only the smallest of movements, tiny flicks of the tongue and soft gently sucks. The only sound in the room the soft noises of breath. 

Initially, Poole’s cock had seemed as cool as the rest of him, but it slowly began to warm and fill in the space, as though waking up and remembering its intended purpose. The butler let out a breathy sigh, both hands combing through his lord’s hair softly, petting it; something he remembered his master being fond of in the past. A surprisingly gentle desire given the size and stoic nature of Morland.

Morland continued to suck lightly, lost in the taste of him. It… was a bit different than he remembered, but the forming of a fresh memory was more titillating than anything. There was satisfaction in knowing first hand what a sensation was like, instead of relying on dusty memories to know what Poole tasted like, how he felt in Morland’s mouth, how he sounded when he sighed, the way he felt as his muscles relaxed some and he sank into the bed a bit.

Mouth full and both hands now wrapped over the butler’s thighs and around his back, he raised himself some, changing angles. The pace was slow; raising his head and bobbing it down again, Poole watching fondly from above. He’d missed his lord.. so much. 

They stayed that way for some time, Morland bobbing between his legs lazily, but never letting the pleasured feeling reach a sense of urgency. Simply soft and warm in his belly.

Warmth curled its way through Poole, spreading through him. Warmth from the heart; caused by the sight of Lord Morland near him again, rich curly hair framing his face and dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he worked, shadows dancing in the candlelight of the softly lit room. Morland’s noble blood had treated him well, no one could deny he was handsome. His hands were firm and soft underneath Poole, whose skin was excited to be handled.

Morland pulled away after a long while, licking his lips to savor the taste and slowly looking the Butler over with dark, wanting eyes. No. Not yet. Not good enough. It wasn’t good enough.

He rose and looked over Poole’s creamy skin as he undid his own pants, erection prominent as it was released. He squeezed himself and Poole swallowed, watching carefully and trying not to look as wanting as he felt. 

With one quick step Morland was back to the bed and moving Poole bodily. “Roll over." 

The butler let himself be rolled with a "Yes, sir”, and tried not to squeak as he was lifted and placed firmly in the center of the bed.

Almost immediately, Morland’s weight was heavy on him again, pressing Poole’s hips down into the mattress and causing him to bite his lip in an attempt to stifle any noises threatening to come out. 

A tender kiss was placed next to his exit wound, and then more followed, placed softly around the hole in a circle.

The skin there was soft and cool as well, and Morland let out a hot breath against it, once again closing his eyes to commit the fresh experience to memory. The taste, the sight, the smell, the feel, like marble made flesh. He ground his hips against Poole, his erection slotting itself between his cheeks as he did, feeling large and burning to the butler. He lowered himself to his elbows, arms on either side of Poole, boxing him in, their faces side by side. With a soft kiss to the crook of his neck, Morland murmured soft assurances to him, “I’m not leaving again. I’m here. 

“I won’t leave you.”

The owner of the mansion ground against him again, slowly and deep, driving Poole’s own need into the mattress and pulling a sigh from his lips, head falling back some against Morland’s shoulder, propped up on his own arms as best he could be.

He shivered as Morland continued to grind against him and whisper, praising him for his loyalty, promising to stay and stay and stay, words neatly lining up with the rhythm of his movements.

It was too much, but somehow just enough. “M-My lord, please, I-I would _only_ be loyalty to you, I _am_ only loyal to you, you know this."

Morland shifted his weight off of one arm and reached around Poole’s chest with it, pushing them tightly together, back to chest. He snaked it up further until he was lightly gripping the base of Poole’s throat. His voice was low and quiet in Poole’s ear, husky and rasping, inaudible to anyone but Poole, "I know." 

Poole shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, the slow grind of Morland’s cock against him suddenly stuttering in rhythm, and he heard a grunt followed by the feeling of sporadic, warm splatters, wet on his back.

He tried not to be disappointed, his own hips still pressed firmly to the bed. He swallowed as he felt the owner pull away, but opened his eyes quickly as an arm wrapped around him from a strange angle. 

Brookenby lifted Poole some, sliding in underneath him with surprising grace before letting him be lowered to his chest. A hand went to one side of the bed, rummaging around before returning with some sort of glass container. Poole took the opportunity to wrap his arms around Morland’s arms, pressing himself to the damp and fuzzy chest, placing his head sideways and closing his eyes to hear his heart beat. Morland let him stay that way for a while, running his hands up and down the butler’s back, eventually sneaking one between them to gently knead at his erection.

Finally, he squeezed at Poole’s ass, not without an inkling of possessiveness. "Would you like to cum?" 

"The choice is yours, m'lord.”

Brookenby paused, still kneading lightly, considering the choice. He took his hand from Poole’s back and pushed his fingers under his chin, forcing him to look at his master. He pressed forward and kissed the Butler, hand speeding up between them and working him to orgasm, knowledgeable but rusty. 

Poole came with a pant, ripping away from Morland’s face some to breath, and a thumb came up to stroke his cheek.

“Later, you’ll do that." 

"Of course.. sir..” he managed, still out of breath. He assumed Morland meant he would return the favor. 

The owner simply pulled his face forward for another kiss. “You’ll do that to yourself. And let me _watch_.”

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of his lord watching him masturbate, and then a second one at the remembrance that his lord _desired_ to. He’d known this, of course, from their previous lifetime together, but the reminder was fresh and gave him satisfaction. Even now, wrapped in his embrace, he’d somehow forgotten _just_ what they had meant to one another. His pleasure as important to Morland as Morland’s was to him.

Morland opened the glass container from before and it wasn’t long before Poole felt something press against him down below. The slick was cold, and likely would have caused him to jump if he’d not been the temperature he was. 

Morland wrapped an arm around his back to keep him close, probing gently and with a slight hint of uncertainty. 

His butler melted into the embrace, squeezing Morland and picking up easily on the slight hesitation. 

“Please sir, continue. Whatever you’d like of me.”

He could feel the slight swallow of Morland’s throat at his words, and grinned to himself with some small satisfaction. 

Fingers pressed in slowly, one by one, working him open with great restraint and effort until he was almost mewling against his lord’s chest. Almost.

There was a hitch in Poole’s breath as the fingers left him, now fully worked open and raw, the sudden emptiness hitting him. Morland didn’t give him any time to ruminate, however, his hand lining himself up with the smaller man with extremely deliberate movements. He’d made sure to take a long time; in part for Poole’s enjoyment, and in part so he had time to recover and regain his arousal.

He pressed in slowly, groaning heavily as he pushed, the butler gasping at the intrusion.

It had been so long… He couldn’t help but push back against Morland, hands clenching and grasping for something to hold, _anything_. Morland’s shoulders were too broad to offer good purchase and his fingers simply kept slipping. 

Brookenby pushed in with painful slowness until he was seated fully. As his berth might suggest, he was well-endowed, which was something Poole had found himself appreciating on many an occasion.

He began to pull out slowly, watching Poole’s face to help determine an ideal pace. Once sure the tiny butler was fully adjusted, he began to speed up. 

The build was slow, speed controlled and increasing tiny nudge by tiny nudge. It seemed to go on forever until suddenly, the nudges had built up to something so quick that he was pounding into Poole, holding him in place against his body and slamming in and out with unsurprising force. 

Poole couldn’t help but gasp with each thrust, suddenly aware of just how deep and hard his lord was reaching. Morland shifted Poole against him, forcing him down some until each thrust was angled into him perfectly, ramming against his sweet spot again and again and again.

He couldn’t move, held in place by Morland’s arms as he was fucked raw, trying to keep his composure even though vocal gasps and moans were being drilled from him, each one coated in pleasure and serving only to drive Morland on in his quest.

Suddenly, and without warning, he was released and pushed harshly backwards, blinking in surprise as he looked down at Brookenby. He had no time to react before Morland was sitting up and pushing him again, now forcing him backwards against the bed and looming over him. They looked at each other, the eye contact intense and full of obvious want. Then, without much warning, Morland’s hand was pressing down against his chest near his shoulder, pinning the butler down as he lined himself back up and thrust back in.

He fucked into him hard, pulling one of Poole’s legs over his shoulder as he pounded into him, raw and primal, releasing decades of repressed desire and unknowing lust for a man he didn’t know, _couldn’t_ know, and wasn’t sure he would _ever_ know. 

Poole’s arms came up to grip at the bedspread by his head, voice stuttering out, “Y-yes! M-m'lord, yes! _Please_!” in encouragement, all pretense of formality gone.

Morland’s breath was heavy and hard, his mind carnal and overheated. He dropped his head to Poole’s chest, his newly freed hand coming to rest on Poole’s throat once more. 

“ _Mine_...”

The butler gasp was partially choked as the hand squeezed with some force around his neck. 

“Y-Yes! Yours.. Only yours..”

Poole’s arms flopped motionless to the bed, laid out at his sides, limp and completely given over as Morland continued fucking into him. 

The pace was unrelenting and he felt like he was floating, barely able to breath, succumbed entirely to the pleasure, feel, and weight of his lord. His _love_.

Morland’s breath was fiery and his tongue rough and wet against his butler’s chest. He came without realizing it halfway through, and only came again when Poole did, also likely for a second or third time. 

He pounded Poole through his final orgasm, eventually slowing and slackening his grip on the butler’s limbs. He panted for breath, head hanging over Poole as they both came down, hazy and dipping into the afterglow.

After a moment, chest still heaving some, Morland moved to pull out, but his wrist was caught by Poole’s hand, and he looked up, meeting his eye. 

Poole swallowed, “W-Would you stay in me? Sir?" 

Morland stayed where he was, looking deep into the butler’s face. Finally he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, followed by another to his mouth, easily deep and languid. He wrapped his arms around Poole and pulled them backwards into their earlier position, Poole on top of Morland. 

Reaching over, he pulled a thick, folded blanket from the chair by the bed and draped it over them both. 

"I’m not done, I promise.” His voice was heavy and deep, a low rumble in the dimly lit room.

“Sir?”

“I just need a rest. And.. to enjoy this.”

Poole nodded and lay his head down on Morland’s chest, slick with sweat and still struggling to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, the feeling of Morland still inside him leaving him full and contented, pleased with the promise that the night would not yet end. 

Morland wrapped his arms around Poole tightly and held him there, amazed at how much he liked the sensation. He’d be sore in the morning, the strain of sex in clear dissonance with the dull cries of pain from underneath his bandages. He’d promised to take as long as possible, and he meant to keep that promise. With any luck, Poole would take pity on him and make do with simply half a night’s efforts. If he had to continue on until day break, well, he wasn’t sure he’d survive.

He had no reservations, however. After all, he’d promised. He’d promised he’d make it last all night. 

He’d promised he’d never leave.


End file.
